Crossing Destinies - A Fallout Story
by Metal Harbinger
Summary: In the year 2304, a new conflict arises in the fledgling nation of the New Midwest Commonwealth between the democracy-minded NMC and the autocratic Order of the New Dawn. Things aren't all that they seem as various figures find themselves caught in the middle. This is their story.
1. Prologue: War Never Changes

Crossing Destinies: A Fallout Story  
by Metal Harbinger

**Author's Note: **Hello Fallout community! Please allow me to introduce myself, I am the Metal Harbinger and this is my first attempt at a "Fallout" fic, an interest that piqued when I played "New Vegas" for the very first time, followed by "Fallout 3."

I will warn all of you that I am still somewhat new to the "Fallout" universe, but have been reading through various fics to help familiarize myself with some of the basic elements of the universe, so I may get some things wrong here and there, but at least I'm trying.

This story is going to be set in an entirely new locale filled with original characters, factions and even a few new types of mutants here and there.

Again this is my first attempt and I hope you all enjoy!

Prologue: War Never Changes

_War. War never changes._

_ When atomic fire consumed the earth humanity was sent retreating to the safety of the great underground vaults. Those who survived took the knowledge of the old world with them, in turn passing it down to the generations that followed._

_ When the vaults opened, their inhabitants entered a hostile new world that would have been foreign to their ancestors, a necropolis covered in ruins, open grave sites to the societies of yesteryear._

_ Yet even in the darkest of days, humankind is a stubborn creature, determined to prevail no matter what obstacles were placed before them. They refused to let the ways of their old world die._

_ As the world enters its 24__th__ century, a fledgling nation is born from the wastes; the descendant of an old world nation they are determined to breathe new life into, this is the New Midwest Commonwealth._

_ Inspired by the tales of great leaders of the past, the NMC seeks to spread the old world values of democracy, liberty and the rule of law in an attempt to restore order to a hostile land that was once the Midwestern United States of America._

_ As it has been with all burgeoning civilizations throughout recorded history, the young nation has endured its struggles in the form of raiders, super mutants and other horrors born from the fallout of a long ago war, yet they soldier forth, determined to bring hope to those living in the death grip of fear and starvation._

_ They are not the only faction seeking to reshape the land in their image._

_ Coming from the land once known as Chicago, another society arises, driven by a divine mission dictated to them by their living prophet: The Order of the New Dawn._

_ An autocratic theocracy led by the high priest known only as Aquinas, it is their goal to unite the world under the sacred word of their 'great provider,' converting the savage wastelanders to their faith while punishing those who refuse._

_ Through it all, there are those who watch from the shadows. Who they are and what are their motives no one knows._

_ As it is with any major conflict, there are those caught in the middle, unwitting pawns in a game much larger than they can ever anticipate. It is their moves that tip the crucial balance of power in favor of the eventual winner._

_ Because war, war never changes._

**Author's Note: **So what do you think? Let me know. I accept constructive criticism, but no flames. Violation of that policy will end either in crucifixion or you becoming Deathclaw chowder! Take your pick.

I will warn all of you that at this point this is just an "experimental fic," meaning that I don't know how long it's going to last or if I'm going to keep it going at all, but I'm going to at least give it a try.

Until then, read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


	2. When Things Go to Shit in a Wasteland Mi

Chapter 1: When Things Go to Shit in a Wasteland Minute

**April 26, 2304**

The crack of a hunting rifle resounded and in less than a split second the feral ghoul hit the dirt with a fresh hole drilled through its skull.

"Ha! Got me another one!" the triumphant marksman whooped, "Looks like you're buying drinks when we get to the next town! How's about that, huh? Huh?" he asked elbowing the dark-skinned man walking next to him; "C'mon Walt, I know defeat is a bitter pill to swallow, but you don't have to let it get your tongue too!" he laughed.

"Heh, keep dreaming, Ralphie boy! The next town is still over sixteen kilometers away. There'll still be plenty more of those shufflers to go through," the man called Walt shot back, giving his friend a hard shove before turning his attention towards the Asian man to his left, "What's next on our itinerary again, Ghee? That fancy little 'watch' of yours does say what's next, right?"

The man called Ghee did not answer immediately, turning down the volume on the jazz station his Pip-Boy 4000 had been playing before he typed in a few commands to consult its map. "Give me a sec," he replied before toggling through a few more options, "Says here it's some place called 'Lakeview.'"

"Ugh, do we even wanna be anywhere near a lake?" asked a middle-aged man walking behind them, tugging at the strap of the varmint rifle slung over his shoulder, "Seems like everywhere around these parts it's nothing but irradiated shitholes," he said before looking down to the canteen attached to his hip.

"Well even if it turns out being near another one of those 'irradiated shitholes,' it's still some form of civilization," the navigator snorted before placing his whiskey bottle back to his lips and downing the rest of the amber-colored liquid in one gulp before casually tossing the now emptied glass bottle aside.

"Not unless you're looking to become a walking nightlight," a short Hispanic man spoke up, "Last I checked we were low on RadAway."

"Yeah, and I'm not in the mood for becoming a ghoul myself," the middle-aged man spoke up, temporarily removing his pre-War baseball cap to scratch at his balding head underneath, "Then again, we already know how ballsy you tend to be when you've had a few. Christ Ghee, what's that gotta be your fourth or your fifth?"

"Wouldn't you like to know Sanders?" the navigator chuckled while patting his side pack, the clinking of glass coming from within.

"So what was the head count last time you checked?" Sanders asked, turning his attention to the two marksmen that had taken point.

"Nine for me and six for Walt," Ralphie replied, "I'm counting that mole rat too remember?" he said while looking over to his fellow shooter, "Y'know shufflers ain't the only things running around these parts. Shit, I might kill me another yao guai in one shot, unlike 'Mr. I-Like-to-Talk-Big-but-Couldn't-Hit-the-Broad-Side -of-a-Brahmin-Without-Wasting-an-Entire-Fucking-Cl ip' over here!" Ralphie chortled, giving the dark-skinned man a light backhanded slap to his upper arm.

"Fuck you Ralphie!" Walt shot back extending his middle finger.

"Gentlemen please, there will be more of those…things if you two don't keep it down, or unless Ghee turns up that god awful racket any higher," a bespectacled man grumbled from behind them, obviously not a fan of the navigator's choice in music.

"Hey, don't be dissing the classics!" Ghee shot back.

"Always gotta be a buzz kill, don't cha' Ein?" Ralphie sardonically retorted while tugging at the forest green head wrap that kept his shaggy black hair out of his eyes.

"No, I just think of myself as being 'more civilized' as opposed to a couple of barbarians like yourselves," the bespectacled man called Ein replied, condescending as always in his tone.

"Hey, you just remember it was us 'barbarians' who pulled your sorry ass out of that mirelurk nest back in Topeka," the Hispanic man jumped in while tucking a fresh cigarette between his lips and pulling out a gold-plated lighter.

Ein pointed a finger at his companion and opened his mouth to reply, but found himself at a loss for words.

"Wish I had a camera on me right now, that was priceless," chimed in the group's sole woman, her fiery feathered hair calling out like a beacon in an otherwise desolate countryside.

"Way to give it to 'em Louie," the man walking behind Ein called to the Hispanic man before turning his attention to the intellectual, "Looks like you oughta' just stick to keeping your nose buried in all those fancy pre-War books of yours," the amber-haired fellow spoke before scratching at the fresh goatee forming upon his chin.

"Well pardon me for not engaging in some simple-minded blood sport as a means of amusement," Ein shot back, "That or seeing there are more things to life other than drinking myself into cirrhosis like Mr. Ghee obviously intends to, or popping Mentats like they are candy as Mr. Walt has been doing to make up for his apparent lack of mental acumen."

"The fuck you just say?" Walt called back.

"That's enough out of all of you!" called out the white-haired man leading the group, "Christ almighty, sometimes I feel like nothing more than a glorified babysitter having to listen to all your bitching and moaning."

"With all due respect Mr. Cohen, you should be disciplining Mr. Ralphie for initiating this verbal fracas," Ein started, "After all, it was his impulsive decision to gun down that feral that has resulted in him wasting a precious bullet for no reason other than to prove his 'machismo' and in the process, could possibly draw in more of their numbers to our location," the intellectual finished, shuddering at the thought of encountering another one of those decaying bags of skin and bones.

"You honestly think ferals are just to be left alone-" Ralphie started back, only to be cut off by Zeb Cohen in midsentence.

"But nothing!" shouted the band leader before turning his attention to a young man at the back of the pack, "Cody, how's our six looking?"

His question had been directed towards Cody Shivers, a young man of twenty years who stood slightly less than six feet tall with a full head of strawberry blond hair in desperate need of a trim and an X-shaped scar on his right cheek marring an otherwise youthful appearance.

The young man nodded and reached for the customized varmint rifle strapped to his back, making sure everything was in fine working order before checking his extended magazine to make sure it was still fully loaded. The rifle called _'Annie'_ had seen its share of wear and tear through countless journeys, but it was a gift presented to him by his adoptive father figure when he was eight years old, so he knew it was something he intended to hang onto for a long, long time and did what he could to keep it in tiptop shape, having added a night vision scope, silencer and extended mag capacity over the years. Readying himself for any potential dangers he exhaled deeply, collapsed to a knee, closed his other eye and peered through the scope.

The landscape surrounding their broken road was covered in dead grass and dotted by dead trees, jagged rock formations and the occasional charred shell of a house. Even more prominent were the large chunks of land marred by the craters left behind from a long ago war. Amongst the trees he could make out a small pond of radioactive waste with a swarm of bloatflies circling overhead, yet they were far enough away to avoid being any kind of nuisance for the traveling band of prospectors.

"So far, so good," the marksman replied slinging his rifle over his shoulder.

A plume of smoke found its way to the young man's nostrils and he suppressed the urge to gag.

Looking over to his left was the man tasked with babysitting their pack Brahmin Ol' Gertie, an enigmatic fellow known only as 'Delton,' his assumed surname.

The man had to be roughly in his late thirties to mid-forties, clad in a hefty set of metal armor with a Chinese-manufactured Type 93 assault rifle strapped to his back, a scoped .44 magnum at his side, and a pneumatic power fist used as a prosthetic in place of his missing right hand. His chestnut-colored hair fell past his ears and was so greasy the sunlight glinted off of it, a telltale sign he hadn't bathed in days, along with a goatee that was rapidly becoming a full beard. A patch covered his left eye, a jagged vertical scar extending the length of his face. His remaining eye was an almost black shade of dark brown, a cold, unforgiving stare it gave off. A cigarette dangled between his lips, but telling him to put it out would have been suicide.

This Delton fellow barely ever spoke, but he damn sure knew his way around combat and let his fists do the talking, as was the case back in Poplar Bluff when a restaurateur had told him the exact same thing, only to eat a power fist for his troubles, hitting the man so hard he went flying through the nearest wall. It was unknown whether the man had lived or died, too many bullets started flying afterward and the group was forced to flee.

Why Zeb allowed this mystery man to continue tagging along was an endless source of speculation for Cody and the others in addition to the many theories drummed up regarding his past, ranging from gruesome to downright farcical. It was those theories that led the others to bet caps, ranging from the cheapskate Ralphie's paltry 10 caps to the compulsive gambler Sanders' 150. Cody himself wasn't a gambling man, yet he had privately voiced his ideas with Ein over games of Caravan.

Whoever he really was, he had seen much violence in his life and bore the scars to prove it. Through all the bloodshed he had likely incurred his share of trauma which may have very well been a major contribution to his taciturn nature. It was like they were traveling with a ticking time bomb waiting to go off at any second and it left everybody on edge. Nevertheless, it was Zeb's call to keep him on board and they kept silent out of respect to him, an arrangement which had now gone on for nearly three months.

Cody looked ahead to old Zeb, a man in his late sixties with snow white hair and a matching beard and mustache that almost made him look like a pre-War fictional character known as 'Santa Claus.' He was a man of strong moral fiber who carried a Bible with him everywhere he went and he only believed in fighting when absolutely necessary. It was his strong desire to help others which had driven him to take the orphaned child under his wing and raise him as if he were his own son.

It was Zeb Cohen who came riding in on a Sleipnir guns blazing like the hero in one of those pre-War spaghetti westerns, methodically taking down the gang of raiders who had brutally murdered his parents right before his very eyes.

It had been twelve years since that brutal day and Cody stuck by his side ever since. Granted he had given the old man his fair share of headaches like any typical son would, but he still loved Zeb and owed him his life. It was under his careful tutelage he learned everything there was to about survival in a harsh wasteland, striving to one day become the kind of man he looked up to.

A string of electronic beeps brought the young prospector out of his reverie and he looked ahead to see Ghee fiddling with his Pip-Boy.

"You in the mood for dancing or something?" the woman Stanzi asked.

"I'm trying to see if there's anybody else nearby, but all I'm getting is this," Ghee said raising his Pip-Boy so everybody else could hear the beeping, "If you ask me, it sounds like Morse Code."

"Like any of us would know what that means," Louie spoke as they came upon the overturned remnants of a Corvega, a skeletonized arm sticking through the shattered driver's side window.

"Well whatever the case is, they're probably miles away and we don't have time to go saving their hinds," Zeb spoke from the front, "We best stay on our current path," he said looking down to the cracked concrete, perhaps feeling some guilt he wouldn't be able to carry out a good deed for someone in need.

"Yeah, we need to get somewhere soon. I'm starving," Walt said rubbing his tummy in emphasis, much to Zeb's annoyance.

"I don't care as long as they have a copious amount of cold drinks and some warm tail to boot," Ralphie added, earning a sharp glare from Stanzi.

"Hopefully they'll have a merchant for us to trade with," the amber-haired man named Andy added while looking back towards their pack Brahmin, carefully to avoid locking eyes with Delton. "We were low on caps last time I counted."

"Heh, looks like you're gonna have to drink another shit ton of Nuka Cola," Cody laughed from behind him.

"Stop it, you're gonna make me thirsty just thinking about that," Andy playfully shot back.

Andy Ziegers was a guy they had met a little over a year ago back in a place that had once been known as Wichita, the young man stepping in to patch up Walt following a skirmish with some slavers. With nowhere else to go they allowed him to travel along, indebted to him after the way he had saved one of their own. He had served as the group's official medic ever since, receiving his training from a Follower of the Apocalypse. Cheerful and a lighthearted joker, he quickly endeared himself to the tightknit group, rivaling Louie for the spot as the comedian of the unit.

"Even better than Sunset Sarsaparilla?" Ralphie called out from the front.

"Ugh, that stuff tastes like Brahmin piss!" Andy replied comically scrunching his face and eliciting a few laughs.

"Yeah, you _would_ drink that stuff, sicko!" Walt called out over his shoulder, bring more laughter to the group and Cody found himself joining in.

It was always nice to loosen up in the hostile wasteland they traversed, finding it relieving how much it could make things more bearable after everything they endured. Even through the harsh terrain, the food shortages, the radiation, the raiders and all the other abominations he still had his loyal band of prospectors. Through thick and thin they stuck by one another, even if Delton was an antisocial prick, still they were like family in a time when few existed.

"So still got any of those Grognak comics on you?" Stanzi asked from Cody's right.

The only woman traveling in the ragtag band, Stanzi had been a Regulator at one point, until she developed a pretty nasty chem habit that had led to her blackballing from law enforcement in the wastes, yet she still wore her duster with pride, a reminder of happier times. Zeb had set some serious ground rules for her, letting her know that she must remain on Fixer if she wished to travel with his group. So far she had stuck true to her promise and it was through that she and Cody were able to discover their mutual love of pre-War comics, Cody's being Grognak the Barbarian and hers being the AntAgonizer.

"Yeah, I actually managed to scrounge up three of them at that one house back in Arden Springs. Funny thing is they were locked in a safe. Damn, that guy sure loved his comics," Cody chuckled.

"I'd say, but you haven't lived until you've found an entire stash of scotch in a safe. Oh man, that was a party and a half right there," Stanzi sighed.

"Well I found some women's sleepwear in one once, and it was in the home of some guy who was supposed to have been a big war hero before the bombs fell," Andy laughed joining in on their conversation, "Guess even the manliest of men have their secrets."

"Pipe down!" Zeb suddenly hissed, shooting his hands out to his sides and immediately the group came to a halt.

"What is-" Sanders was about to ask when he looked ahead to see what the old man was pointing at.

Up ahead was a Nuka Cola semi-truck that had crashed into a billboard. The sight normally wouldn't have been so out of the ordinary given the wreckage dotting the barren wastelands, but when they saw what was spray painted on the side their blood chilled.

On the side of the trailer spray painted over the Nuka Cola logo were two large red R's outlined in black.

"Road Ragers," Sanders muttered, his skin paling at the mention of their name.

The Road Ragers were one of the most notorious raider gangs in the entire area, noted for their access to working automobiles, a rarity in the wastes and one that made them twice as dangerous as any other band of raiders. Whenever you crossed one of their markings trouble was sure to follow.

"Shit Ragers territory," Ghee whispered before looking over to Zeb, "What do you want us to do?"

Zeb did not reply immediately, a dread feeling washing over him as he looked over to a green highway sign riddled with bullet holes, no doubt the gang's work. He took a few moments to compose himself before speaking, "We don't have much choice. We have to keep moving forward. Louie, stock everybody up, double the usual."

"Gotcha," Louie said unslinging the heavy duffel bag and unzipping it.

Louie acted as the group's unofficial 'quartermaster,' in charge of divvying the group's ammunition and smaller arms when available. He reached in and began handing out clips of 9mm and 10mm bullets for their sidearms, some 10mm clips for Cody's submachine gun, .32 caliber rounds for Ralphie and Walt's hunting rifles, 5.56 rounds for Cody and Sanders' varmint rifles as well as his and Andy's service rifles and Delton's Type 93, .357 rounds for Stanzi's cowboy repeater, 12 gauge shells for Ghee's combat shotgun, .44 rounds for Delton's magnum and some energy cells for Ein's laser pistol. By the end of the handout his bag was nearly emptied.

"That's everything boss, nothing that goes boom though," Louie said zipping the bag up.

"Well we're just gonna have to make do with what we've got," Zeb said readying his hunting rifle, "Alright people, let's move."

The group continued forth with their guns raised and Ghee shutting off his radio so they could hear any approaching threats clearly. So far everything was quiet aside from the blowing wind in the distance and it was that calm that left Cody Shivers on edge.

They walked for about another mile unmolested, passing carefully beneath the crumbling remnants of a freeway overpass and what appeared to be the charred husk of a crashed Vertibird before Zeb again raised his hand to halt the group.

"Up ahead," he said before turning to Cody, "Front and center kid, we need your eagle eye."

The marksman did as he was told and made his way to the front of the group, drawing his trusted rifle and peering through her scope.

A ramshackle farmhouse awaited them up the road, behind it the corner pillars of what had once been its barn and an overturned silo lying next to that. Coming across such an establishment was something you could never be too sure of in the wasteland, not knowing whether you would find a lonesome old lady waiting inside to offer you a warm bowl of squirrel soup, or a band of raiders looking to take you for everything you've got. In most cases it was the latter.

"See anybody around?" Zeb asked.

"Looking clear so far," Cody answered uneasily.

"Well whatever's there we need to know. C'mon," the grizzled leader said taking point.

They moved closer to the farmhouse with their guns at the ready and it wasn't until Zeb's boots made contact with the front porch's bottom step that he stopped himself. Looking around and listening for anything out of the ordinary he hugged the wall to the front door's right.

"Just because this place might be empty now doesn't mean something wasn't up beforehand. Ralphie, Walt and Louie, I want you three with me. The rest of you, stay close and keep a lookout."

With a collective nod, the three young men took an offensive position around the front door and waited for Zeb to reach his hand over and gently clasp the knob. When he turned the knob and nothing happened they cautiously entered one by one.

It was a decision the old man almost immediately regretted.

On the floor in what had once been the home's living room was a ratty old mattress with a headless corpse chained to it, the hallmark of a raider gang.

"Fuck," Louie blurted out, the cigarette falling from his lips as his mouth fell open in shock. It was such a horrific sight, yet he couldn't tear his eyes away.

Making his way into the nearby bathroom, Ralphie walked in to find another fresh corpse resting in the old bathtub, the hapless soul's chest sliced open and their internal organs removed.

The normally wisecracking marksman felt his stomach twist into knots and he could only fight back the bile building up behind his lips.

In what had been the master bedroom the fresh corpses of a middle-aged couple rested, both of them stripped naked and covered in various bruises and deep gashes. They had both died violent deaths, yet their arms had been crossed over their chests and their facial features had been rearranged so they no longer displayed their dying looks of agony. They had been placed like that after their murderers were done with them, a rare sight when raiders were brought into question. Nonetheless, it still forced Walt out of the room and left him muttering a string of curses to himself.

Stumbling across the house's dining room, Zeb Cohen was treated to the sight of an abandoned baby carriage covered from top to bottom in blood. A discarded teddy bear rested on the floor at its side, a sight which made his heart ache. What became of the unfortunate soul he had no idea, nor did he likely want to know. It was only when he could smell something in the air that he finally got an idea, one he recognized all too well and one that made his stomach nearly lurch.

Burnt human flesh.

"My God in Heaven," was all he could say to himself.

XXX

Cody quietly milled about outside with his rifle in hand, not having had to fire it just yet. Still, there was that nagging feeling that told him he would have to, a ball of ice forming in his gut. He was left to wonder if he would be prepared.

In addition to Annie, he also carried a 10mm submachine gun and a 9mm Beretta for close quarters combat, along with a survival knife as an absolute last resort. He was a decent shot and had passable knife fighting skills, yet without some kind of weapon in his hand he wasn't the best, the X-shaped scar a testament to one of his past failures.

He continued his patrol along the weathered house, passing an enclosure filled with the skeletonized remnants of both Brahmins and Sleipnirs, but when he saw what awaited him in an overgrown garden next to the enclosure, the ball of ice exploded and its coldness traveled throughout his system.

There was a figure suspended on a wooden cross like one would expect with a scarecrow, a once living, breathing person that had most of the flesh torn away from their body like it was attacked by some large animal. Unable to discern the deceased's gender due to all the damage, he could make out several knives and arrows protruding from the sinewy husk, the victim having been used for target practice.

"Hey Cody, do you-" he heard Ghee walking up behind him, only for the man to gasp upon spotting the suspended carcass, "What the fucking hell?"

And then a gunshot came from within the house.

XXX

"Looks like this was just another wild goose chase," Ralphie muttered while trying to avoid looking at the corpse in the adjoining living room.

In addition to the bodies, various spent casings of Jet and Psycho littered the grimy carpet, along with a few emptied bottles of Buffout and other discarded containers found at campsites all over the wastes such as emptied Nuka Cola and whiskey bottles, tin cans and emptied food boxes. There were a few ammunition boxes and a first-aid box present as well, both of which turned out to be emptied when the disgust finally left Walt and he was able to search through them.

There were also a few weapons present, a sawed-off shotgun, hunting rifle, a few 10mm handguns and a 9mm submachine gun, but upon Louie's closer inspection, they were all found to be damaged beyond repair.

"Nothing of use. Nothing-" Ralphie was in the middle of saying when he suddenly noticed a blur out of the corner of his eye, making its way straight for Zeb. Without warning he raised his rifle and squeezed the trigger, his round sailing past the old man's head.

There was the sound of a bone ripping through flesh, a splatter of blood on the wall behind the old prospector, and then a heavy thud striking the floor.

"Ralphie, what the fucking hell?" Zeb called out whirling around and looking down, gasping in horror as a man's body suddenly materialized on the ground behind him, a hole ripped through a portion of his chest not covered by his patchwork metal armor. A tire iron was clenched in his right hand and attached to his wrist above that was a stealth boy.

"A raider…with a stealth boy?" Louie asked staring down at the fresh corpse perplexed, "But how?"

"Beats the living hell outta me," Ralphie replied.

They had heard of stealth boys before, a device which attached to the user's wrist and generated a modulating field that transmits the reflected light from one side of an object to the other. It could make a person harder to notice, yet not completely invisible. They were known to be used by military forces and a few mercenary units here and there, yet they had been largely outlawed for civilian use in areas where there were functioning governments. Then again, if you had enough caps and the right connections they could still be purchased on the black market, for _a lot_ of caps that is.

How some piss ant raider had managed to get his hands on one was a question that left the four prospectors scratching their heads.

"Hey, are you guys alright in there?" Andy called from outside.

"We're fine," Zeb shouted back, his eyes still transfixed upon the dead raider, "Get everybody rounded up. We're getting out of here!"

XXX

All attention was drawn to Delton when his mechanical hand shot into the air.

"What is it -?" Ghee was asking before being silenced by a sharp glare from the antisocial prospector.

"You hear that?" he hissed, his timbre gravelly following years of his self-destructive habit.

Everybody stared in a mixture of awe and horror, a small miracle whenever the enigmatic loner spoke more than two words in one sentence. Usually when he spoke it meant something bad was about to happen.

It left a bad feeling in the gut of Cody Shivers. He clenched his rifle tightly, feeling the tremors in his hands and wrists. His teeth chattered beneath closed lips, leaving him wishing he had a toothpick on hand like he always used whenever this happened, his pearly whites soon to be ground into nothing. _"Damn it Delton, you and your 'sixth sense'," _he thought to himself as his heart hammered inside his chest.

Everybody looked around uneasily before Ein looked back to Delton, "What the fuck are we waiting for?" he demanded.

Before the loner could growl impatiently Sanders' head was pulverized into a crimson mist, sending bits of blood, brain and bone spraying onto the intellectual's face, leaving him frozen in horror with strangled whimpers escaping his lips.

"What the fuck?" Cody gasped wildly waving his rifle around for any signs of danger as the others either followed suit or remained rooted to their spots in fear. He stole a peek to the blood-soaked ground and was finally able to see the entire right side of Kip Sanders' obliterated face, the kind of damage only an anti-materiel round could have produced.

A second later Ein's head would also explode in a crimson mist, snapping the prospectors out of their trance and sent them diving for cover behind whatever they could find, Cody taking cover behind the house while Ghee took cover behind the nearby remnants of a pickup truck.

Delton only flinched briefly as the genius' head exploded, yet having seen much violence in his life he quickly regained his bearings and began scanning the area for the unseen sniper. As it was with much of the land around them, it was nothing but rock formations, dead trees and even deader grass aside from a patch that was slightly different.

That was it right there!

The antisocial drifter flinched again as a section of frayed wood exploded next to his head, yet there was no sound following, meaning their attacker had a silencer.

Quickly rushing towards an overturned bathtub, Delton bolted between any available cover in a zigzagging pattern that would make it harder for the shooter to get a bead on him. His rapid movements continued until he was within range and raised his rifle to spray away at the slightly darker patch of grass; his trigger squeezed until he was rewarded with the spray of blood followed by a man's dying cries.

The threat neutralized, Delton looked around cautiously before creeping over towards his kill and using his boot to kick some of the grass covering away, finding the body of a man clad in the patchwork armor popular with raiders. Clutched in his hand was an anti-materiel rifle as he suspected, a PGM Hecate II, bolt-action with .50 caliber bullets intended for use against military equipment. Knowing it could serve him well he knelt down to pry the rifle from the man's cold, dead hands.

"It's go time!" a voice suddenly called out and Delton shot his gaze over to an ancient rock formation located at his right, where a man with his hair shaved into a Mohawk and wearing piecemeal metal and leather armor stepped into view, aiming an assault carbine in his direction.

Delton reached for his assault rifle, only to be halted as two more raiders suddenly materialized from thin air.

"Ain't nowhere to run Pops!" laughed a raider who still appeared to be in his teens, clad in a pre-War baseball cap with his face covered by a bandana and armed with a combat shotgun, while the other raider was a young woman with her hair shaved into a strange double Mohawk hairstyle he had seen out West, clutching a service rifle.

They were just three piss ant hoodlums who probably had very little if any training in the usage of their weaponry as it was for most raiders, known for sloppy shots in a desperate attempt to hit anything as opposed to carefully lining up their shots and conserving ammo. He had been in worse situations before and knew he could take them, but before he could raise his rifle there were more electronic zapping noises of stealth boys being powered down, enough to let him know he was surrounded.

And then there was an explosion from the farmhouse.

XXX

Cody jumped as he heard the sudden rattle of gunfire in the distance and crept to the edge of the house's exterior, looking into the open yard where Sanders and Ein's corpses lay motionless and his remaining companions looked on from behind cover not knowing whether they should open fire. His vision then fell back to the corpses of his murdered companions.

Kip Sanders, in spite of his gambling addiction, was still a good man and a reliable traveling partner who could always be trusted to cover your flank in a firefight. As for Ein, he may have been a pompous ass, but even he didn't deserve such a fate.

_"What the hell?" _the young prospector thought to himself when he noticed sudden movement from the hill overlooking the homestead and his eyes widened when he noticed the rifle in the man's hands, taking aim at the still hiding Ghee.

"Ghee, watch out!" Cody cried raising Annie and firing a round at the raider sniper, who quickly ducked for cover before his bullet could connect.

"We've got raiders!" Ghee shouted raising his own combat shotgun and was about to fire when another raider emerged from behind the rock formation, hoisting a missile onto his padded shoulder.

"Scatter!" the navigator hollered just as the launcher's trigger was depressed and a missile fired in their direction.

The projectile struck the wrecked truck head on and the force was enough to fling Cody through the air, landing hard on his chest with an 'oomph' that knocked the air from his lungs and sent Annie clattering from his grasp. Thankfully his leather armor had cushioned the impact, but his ears were ringing and his vision was swimming, a rattle of muffled pops sounding overhead. When his vision finally cleared he looked up to see a woman standing tall over him with a fire axe in hand, the goggles attached to her leather skull cap disguising the bloodlust in her eyes.

"Time to die pretty boy!" she cackled madly.

His mind screamed at him to act and he looked down to see his submachine gun lying just inches away from his outstretched hand. Shooting his hand outward, his sense of touch came back to him as he felt its cool metal grip and he rolled to the side just in time to dodge the blade that would have split his skull wide open, raising the gun and squeezing the trigger. The woman thrashed violently as 10mm rounds peppered her unarmored chest and then she fell to the dirt like a puppet with its strings cut.

The demented sight of the woman's silent screams provided a deranged motivation and a wave of adrenaline washed over the young man. Scooping up Annie, he forced himself back to his feet to join the battle with his friends, ready to dish out some carnage of his own.

More concealed raiders descended upon the farmhouse, all of them clad in patchwork armor made from metal, leather and whatever other materials they could find lying around, a few of them even carrying makeshift shields fashioned from battered old road signs. They were primarily armed with melee weapons and small arms, yet in addition to the sniper and the missile launcher, a few also carried semi-automatic shotguns and assault rifles.

"Road Ragers roll out!" shouted a grungy raider equipped with a handmade machete in one hand and a heavily-defaced _'STOP'_ sign in the other. His cry was followed by a chorus of hoots and hollers, frothing from their mouths like rabid dogs.

There was no command to open fire from the prospectors, they just raised their guns and returned fire.

Andy leveled his service rifle and took aim upon the lead raider, firing a burst that traveled along the man's chest and into his throat, sending him tumbling violently down the slope he and the others descended. Stanzi was there to cover him, drawing her cowboy repeater and focusing on their most prevalent threats, being the sniper and the maniac carrying the missile launcher, firing a round that caught the latter thug in his knee just as he was about to load another missile. She tried to finish the job, only to be halted as a 10mm round struck her in the thigh and sent her staggering backward.

Cody had regained his bearings and ran over to cover Ghee, who was in the process of being attacked by two more raiders, his combat shotgun bucking wildly in his hands. Unfortunately the navigator wasn't much of a fighter and he was quickly sent fishing for shells in his pockets.

Quickly taking a knee, the prospector peered through Annie's scope and got a bead on the chest of a raider equipped with a spiked baseball bat. Exhaling deeply he squeezed the trigger, his round punching through the stop sign covering the man's chest and sending him clattering to the dirt. It wasn't long before the other raider emerged from behind the cover of the nearby outhouse, finding himself dispatched by a round to the mouth that exploded out the back of his head.

Meanwhile the quartet of Zeb, Walt, Ralphie and Louie emerged from the farmhouse upon hearing all the commotion and found themselves being ambushed by more of the Road Ragers.

"Going down boy!" shouted a mangy raider leaping at Ralphie with a serrated knife in hand, who managed to duck his swing and drive his steel-toed boot into the man's groin before swinging his rifle's butt around and nailing the man in the jaw, forcing him to drop his weapon. He then grabbed the filthy man by the leather strap which held his spiked shoulder pads in place and spun him around, using him as a human shield when one of his buddies opened fire with a .32 pistol, the rounds tearing into his exposed skin. With the raider down, the prospector quickly reached for his 10mm sidearm and dropped his colleague.

Louie managed to duck a swing from a pipe-wielding raider and drove his brass knuckled fist into the man's chin with a vicious uppercut before another Road Rager tried to jump him, only to be cut down by a well-placed shot from Walt's hunting rifle, who then finished the raider he knocked down.

"Thanks man," Louie said throwing his colleague a thumb up.

"Aw shit," Zeb grumbled.

"What is it?" Ralphie asked before looking in westward direction which he stared.

"You're fucking shitting me!" Walt gasped as they looked down the highway to see a heavily-armored gunmetal gray Humvee racing towards them, followed by a faded red Highwayman and a once baby blue pickup truck, all vehicles packed with more of those ravenous Road Ragers.

"We've gotta get the fuck outta here," Louie shouted, knowing there was no way they were equipped or trained enough to take on an entire band of rampaging raiders who saw them as nothing more than fresh meat.

"C'mon, we've gotta get the others," Zeb said making his way around to the backyard.

Following a well-placed shot from her cowboy repeater, Stanzi had finally managed to drop the other sniper and thanks to the combined efforts of Cody and Andy, eight more Road Ragers had fallen.

"Is that all of them?" Stanzi asked, left visibly out of breath and scrambling for any more rounds in the pockets of her duster.

Just then Zeb, Ralphie, Walt and Louie emerged from around the house, all of them in a hurry.

"C'mon, we've gotta get outta here. There's more of 'em on the way," Zeb blurted out as they ran past, looking briefly down to the corpses of Ein and Sanders, but knowing there was nothing that could be done to save them.

"Is this all of you?" he demanded.

"No, Delton's missing," Andy said looking around.

A gunshot rang out a second later and the raider that had been carrying the missile launcher fell to the ground from his perch above.

Turning around the group was greeted by the sight of Delton, the one-eyed man covered from head to toe in the blood of some freshly slaughtered raiders, his scoped .44 magnum smoking in his hand.

"Didn't know I became popular all of a sudden," the loner uncharacteristically chuckled.

"C'mon, we've gotta move," Zeb said noticing a narrow trail in the hills behind the house, "Stay away from the main roads," he ordered before rushing forth through the passage.

The group followed suit, bobbing and weaving through the narrow passageway until they descended into a gorge and reached another incline, making their way forth until the revving of engines again filled their ears.

"Oh what the fuck now?" Ghee whined as he looked ahead to see more Road Ragers mounted on dirt bikes waiting for them.

"Last one to score a kill buys dinner!" whooped the raider at the front, clad in an armor-plated motorcycle helmet with two horns sticking out from the sides, powering up the ripper held in his left hand.

"Oh fuck," Louie muttered next to Cody knowing they were boxed in.

The lead biker suddenly made noises with his mouth that mimicked a blaring horn before shouting "Charge!"

Once again the prospectors knew they had to make a stand and opened fire upon the raiders, two of the armored men falling immediately, while the leader had somehow managed to avoid all the bullets flying around him and made contact with the earth in a cloud of dust, charging towards them with reckless abandon.

Cody raised his 10mm submachine gun and fired a burst at the oncoming biker, only for his bullets to ping off of its metal plating, yet his gun clicked empty, remembering he had forgotten to check his current clip after gunning down that woman back at the farmhouse. The buzz of the ripper suddenly grew louder and he looked up just in time to see the maniac charging towards him with nowhere to run.

_"Shit! Shit! Shit! Not like this!" _he thought to himself while struggling for another clip, dust kicking into his eyes and nearly blinding him.

"Cody, look out!" he heard Louie call out from behind him and a second later, he was knocked to the ground as the dirt bike roared past him.

Again finding his world rocked, it took some time for the prospector's vision to readjust and when he did he found himself staring into Louie Salazar's dark eyes.

"Louie, we have –" he was in the middle of saying when he noticed the quartermaster's mouth hanging open and then his eyes wandered down to find the man's head separated from the rest of his body.

"Louie," he gasped. The man had sacrificed himself to save him.

Before he could speak any further he was being pulled back to his feet and had Delton shouting in his face.

"C'mon kid, we ain't got time to be grieving!" the one-eyed man shouted before shooting his power fist out and knocking one of the bikers from his ride, the man's body spinning in the air before he connected with the earth at an awkward angle and his unmanned dirt bike crashing into a large rock formation, splintering into two separate halves.

Indeed there was no time to look back and pay any final respects to Louie Salazar as bullets pelted away at the earthen wall around him and the prospector rushed up to Ralphie, who raised his hunting rifle and managed to hit one of the mad bikers in the back.

"Fucking move," Delton screamed as he noticed a maniac in the process of unclipping a fragmentation grenade from the line slung across his bare chest. He had drawn his arm backward to toss his explosive after pulling the pin, yet the one-eyed man had raised his rifle in time to fire a barrage that sent the would-be bomber falling backwards. The grenade leapt from his hand as he fell to the ground and rolled a few inches away, the following explosion swallowing him whole along with another raider.

"Move people! Move damn it!" Zeb screamed before firing another barrage at an unseen biker.

The survivors did as told with both Delton and Andy covering the rear flank as the bikers turned around to chase after them.

"You can't run! You can't hide! You can't win!" the lead biker cackled maniacally, only to fall a second later as one of Andy's bullets found its way through his opened visor, yet there were still plenty of other Road Ragers on hand to continue the chase.

All they could do was run, following wherever the gorge took them. There was no time to return fire, just run.

The fatigue was taking its toll on the young marksman and it wasn't long before his buddy Walt was passing him by, only to fall a second later as a metallic snap rang out.

"Walt!" Ralphie cried, looking down to see his friend writhing on the ground in agony, a bear trap having clamped down on his ankle.

The marksman reached out weakly to his friends, only to be trampled a second later as two dirt bikes raced over him.

The straw had broken the camel's back and Ralphie's rang amplified to new levels. Raising his hunting rifle he managed to shoot down a raider wearing a hockey mask before Cody and Andy were grabbing him and trying to pull him back.

"C'mon, it's no use! We have to go!" Andy shouted over the buzz of dirt bike engines as Ralphie thrashed against their grip, delivering a backhand that managed to knock the amber-haired man to the ground.

"Ralphie, c'mon!" Cody pleaded just as his friend was about to break free from his grasp, only to look up and see one of the mounted raiders raising a 9mm handgun with some strange engraving on it and pointing it at his face.

The trigger was depressed and a gunshot rang out, the last thing he would see before everything went black.

**Author's Note: **The customized varmint rifle's name "Annie" is a nod to the famed sharpshooter Annie Oakley and would be a reflection upon Cody's marksmanship abilities, although I'm not gonna make him a Mary Sue/Marty Stu type who _never_ misses a shot, but he's still pretty damn good.

The Sleipnir is going to be one of my original animals added to the mix. The Sleipnir will be an 8 legged horse that is inspired by Odin's horse of the same name from Norse mythology. I always found it odd how in a Wild Western-inspired setting like New Vegas you would find two-headed cattle and oversized rams, yet you would never find anything inspired by horses and I would obviously assume that if you can have those running around, then you'd damn sure have mutant horses too.

Well I believe that's all I have to say until next time, so until then read and review! This is Metal Harbinger saying SPREAD THE SICKNESS, ONE MIND AT A TIME! \m/


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